


Spousal Privilege

by fallen_woman



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallen_woman/pseuds/fallen_woman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How gossip travels. Conversations with married people. [Spoilers for S3 Finale]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spousal Privilege

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://fallen-woman.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [mad men](http://fallen-woman.livejournal.com/tag/mad+men)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Fic: Spousal Privilege** _

Title: Spousal Privilege  
Fandom: Mad Men  
Rating: PG  
Characters: Roger, Joan, Trudy, Pete  
Summary: How gossip travels. Conversations with married people. [Spoilers for S3 Finale]

"Don's getting divorced," Roger said.

"I gathered as much," Joan said. It was 8:30 p.m., and they were waiting at the curb for her cab. She tucked a stray hair under her green headscarf. He had never imagined she'd be the type to wear headscarves; she had never cared much for hats, even, save for the three months some milliner had been trying to woo her.

"Betty's going off with one of Rocky's men, Henry Francis." The wind lashed Roger's scarf straight back, and Joan's headscarf slipped a little. "Nice man. I'm not saying that to be nice."

"No, you're saying it to be mean." She didn't turn to look at him. It was almost like the old days—her and him, standing twenty feet apart in front of some hotel, like their bodies hadn't been damp and ampersanded together twenty minutes ago.

"Can't imagine what she was thinking, a man like that. Guess she wanted something to cuddle and cry. Women do that."

"Men do that too, Roger." Joan tightened the belt of her overcoat and folded up the collar. Behind them, a flock of kids in black caps passed, noisy and hopeful. He could feel the lights on their faces, garlands of green and red and bright, the world warmly yielding under their boots.

"You remember the Christmas party? Nine years ago. You and Draper danced the Varsouviana. He had just nailed Ballantine."

"There were a lot of parties," she said fondly. The kids had crossed to the next block; Roger couldn't hear them anymore, over the wind.

"I grabbed him in the hall, after." Roger tilted on his heels. Jane was napping at home (it would be a lie to say "waiting"), with equal parts hot chocolate and cognac. "I said two words: 'Not Joanie.'"

"That's sweet."

Her cab arrived with a slushing sound. Opening the door for her, he added: "And last year, you got married."

Even the warning look she gave him seemed weary. "And what insurmountable conclusion did you land on this time?"

He put his cold cheek to hers, a continental kiss. "I hate Christmas!"

She turned her face abruptly, but the glimpse of white neck above her collar was just as satisfactory. "I'm coming in tomorrow," she said as she settled in the cab, brushing the ice from her lap. "Just for the half-day."

"Good," Roger said as he shut the door, then rapped the roof twice, like he used to do in the service with precious cargo. He did catch the profile of her smile, through the misted window.

Before the year ended, he _would_ make her laugh, in person.

**********

"Don's getting divorced," Peter said in the middle of an elbow turn.

"What?" Trudy's limbs still moved through the swing steps, even as her mind went numb. They were at her favorite little club on the East Side; the chiffon skirt of her dress poufed, leisurely, under her leopard-spotted belt.

"I picked up the phone, when he was still on." Peter's eyes were dazed as he twirled her. He was wearing a blue-black tie, and his hair had a slight wave to it, and the night had been going so well. "It'll be finalized, in three weeks."

"I'm so sorry, Peter. No one really knows what happens in a marriage." The trumpet notes flowed like wine over them; they fell into basic three-step.

"She's marrying a man she met, at Roger's derby party." His voice was choked with disdain. "What was she like, that day?"

"I don't know. Pregnant," Trudy said. Peter stopped, and she stopped, and they were two statues on a floor full of whirling couples.

"I'm sorry." He held her to his chest. She could hear his heart going, underneath the music. "It's just… it's like someone died."

"Do you want to leave?" she asked. Peter shook his head. Slowly, like she was leading, Trudy took his hands and nudged his feet into rhythm.

"She had no right," he said savagely, into her cheek. "Would _you_ leave Don Draper?"

"Contrary to what you may think, dear" — and now, Trudy felt comfortable enough to smile, to tease — "not everybody wants to marry Don Draper." She scooted around him in a quick back pass, beaming when they were face to face again. "He'll be fine."

"He'll be fine," Peter echoed, before purposefully speeding his pace. Trudy relaxed into the flurry of jangling legs and deft hand touches. Heads turned in admiration, and she smiled harder. She loved dancing with Peter, even more than that other thing, because dancing you could do in public.

The song ended. He tilted her back, and she snapped up to meet him. "Betty Draper was very polite, and very beautiful," Trudy said, a little breathless. "But she always seemed sad. And I don't want to be sad."

She tapped her fingernail against the knot of his tie. He butted his forehead against hers. "I love you, lovely."

"What a coincidence," Trudy Campbell said as the five-man band wound up again. "I love you, too."

**********

"I'm getting divorced," Don said into the phone.

"_Oh_," Anna said, and in the long silence Don heard a gentle arpeggio, the sluice of waves against lukewarm sand. "I am so sorry, Dick."

"Betty went to Reno, to make it legal." He pressed his elbows into the mattress. It was Sunday, noon, and he hadn't even brushed his teeth yet. "Everyone at the office knows—well, all seven of them. Maybe not Harry." Don rubbed his forehead. "I didn't want to tell you. I was ashamed."

"There's no need—"

"After she found out everything, I thought." He rolled over, stared at the empty nightstand. It was pristine, almost reflective, because every Saturday a girl came in to clean. "But then nothing happened, and I thought, _Maybe_."

"You're going to feel like dying, for a good deal of time."

He clenched the phone cord. "Aren't you going to ask whose fault it was?"

"You love that girl." He imagined Anna standing in a kitchen, arranging daffodils in a vase. "You built a life with her. And you'll keep on loving her, because that's the sort of thing you can't turn off. But eventually, you're going to forget. What it was like sharing a house, sharing a bed, saying good night every night. And that" — her voice cracked, down the middle, and Don felt it all the way in New York — "is what makes it bearable."

Don finally sat up, planted his bare feet on the chilly wooden floor. "I wish you were here."

"Why, so you can take me dancing?" At that, they both laughed.

"Listen, this might not happen soon or—anytime this year, but… I would like to bring my kids to meet you. If that's okay."

"I'd like that."

"Okay. I don't want to make you late for church."

"I won't be. Have a good week, Dick."

He set the phone on its cradle, grabbed a cigarette, walked to the window. Forced the curtains open, as far as they would go, and stood at the sill, smoking, as the people bustled in the decaying city below.


End file.
